


Sick Day

by mustdefine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, so maybe Emma should get sick more often, because she's kind of enjoying it. Minus the gallons of tea Regina's pouring down her throat, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Emma Swan takes a goddamn sick day

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be posted on Valentine's Day. Oops.

When Emma nearly faints after attempting to roll out of bed, she’s legitimately confused for a moment. Emma hardly ever gets sick—maybe a mild cold once a year. This whole headache, nausea, and fatigue thing going on at the moment is an experience she could do without, much like the stuffed toys and treacly cards that have recently exploded all over her parents’ place.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut and waits until the room stops spinning. Either a pack of ogres have repeatedly run her over in her sleep, or she’s got the nastiest bug in the history of ever. Or both. Maybe both, way she feels. She risks reopening an eye to grab her phone and immediately slams it shut. _Fuck. Too much light._ She feels her stomach roil, fights down the nausea by sheer force of will and just sits, breathing in and out for a few minutes. Then she contacts the station—texts instead of calls, because she can’t handle having a conversation right now. Someone else is going to have to wrangle paperwork and parking tickets because Emma Swan is taking a goddamn sick day.

Her second text is to Regina. It takes her three tries to compose something that makes any sense. _Can’t pick up Henry today, can you take him for the weekend?_ Emma pushes the phone away the moment she finishes typing and buries her head in her pillow. She hears the phone slide off the edge of the bed and drop to the floor, but she can’t muster the energy to care, much less retrieve it when it buzzes a few minutes later. She’ll regret the missed opportunity to stuff her son full of discount Valentine’s Day candy over the next few days (and, okay, maybe give French toast another try, preferably without setting anything on fire this time). But she is not up to the task of taking care of another human being right now. Dying, though. Dying’s definitely on the very short list of things she is capable of doing. She tries to go over that very short list just to make sure everything’s in order, but she keeps losing track of where she is, which makes for a rough couple hours of maybe-sleep.

The list does not include dealing with visitors. Someone’s pounding on the door and shouting. “Miss Swan! Miss! Swan! I know you're in there!” _Fucking hell_ , Emma thinks woozily, already hauling herself out of bed and downstairs on autopilot because when Regina yells like _that_ you answer the damn door, never mind if you nearly faint twice trying to _get_ to the damn thing. (The less said about navigating the stairs, the better.)

Emma yanks the door open. She’s pretty sure the person standing there is Regina, what with the pounding and the shouting, although she can’t really be sure who she’s seeing because it’s possible Emma’s eyeballs are liquifying from a truly extraordinary amount of sinus pressure.

“Emma?” Regina’s voice shades from angry to confused in two syllables.

“Tell me I’m wearing pants,” Emma says hoarsely. She doesn’t know why she says that. It’s not like she’s never opened the door in her underwear for Regina before (before she knew Regina, before everything). 

“You are clothed, although I’d hesitate to dignify those rags with the term ‘pants.’”

“Good,” Emma says. She sways a bit, closes her eyes because Regina’s still blurry and that’s not right, Regina is always sharp-edged and vivid. “What. Uh. What.” There should be more to that sentence— _What’s wrong, is Henry okay, why are you here, was all that racket really necessary because_ fuck _, my head_ —but words are difficult at the moment.

“You didn’t answer any of my texts.”

“Your texts?”

“Yes, Miss Swan. My texts inquiring whether there was a reason you’d summarily canceled a sleepover Henry was very much looking forward to, and if you have seen his book report or his graphic novel.” Regina seems to be scanning the apartment, from the way her voice sounds.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I’m—I’m not feeling too good. Haven’t seen his, uh. Book things.”

“That’s apparent. Perhaps next time you’ll do us the courtesy of being more forthcoming about your ... illness.” Regina’s gone from confused to frigid in the last thirty seconds. That’s important for some reason, Emma knows. Things need to be warm, not cold. Emma’s cold. She’s really cold.

“Said I was sorry,” Emma croaks, which is not at all helpful.

Regina sniffs. “Perhaps next time you’ll also think twice about drinking an entire bottle of whiskey the night before you’re to take my son,” she says. Emma has no idea what whiskey has anything to do with anything, but figuring that out isn’t the priority right now, because oh shit, _my son_ , not _our son. Our son_ means having a Henry schedule and regular dinners at 108 Mifflin and the occasional nightcap in Regina’s study after Henry goes to bed and even coffee at Granny’s once, just her and Regina, all of which has been a little weird but not weird at the same time, because they’re Henry’s moms and they have to make this work for him, and Emma knows Regina well enough by now to realize there’s disappointment and hurt behind the bite in that voice.

“Regina. Hey.” Emma gropes in front of her and grabs something (an arm?), hoping desperately she isn’t actually groping Regina because suddenly it’s absolutely vital that she be reassuring. She blinks hard and Regina swims into view, that formidable jaw clenched. “I’m sick, okay? I called into work.”

“They said you didn’t give a reason, just that you weren’t coming in.”

Emma’s grip tightens, partly at the tone of Regina’s voice and partly because she feels like she’s about to fall over. “You really think I’d be that selfish? Let myself get too hungover to take care of our kid?” She waits, waits until Regina shifts slightly under her hand. “You know I wouldn’t do that, right? To him or you. That’s not me.”

Regina says finally, almost reluctantly, “I know.”

Emma sighs and scrubs her free hand over her face. “I should be kinda pissed at you for ... all this ... but I really don’t have the energy right now. Can you, um. I need to sit down.” The couch is an entire football field away. Regina’s arm goes around her waist and Emma leans into her out of necessity, not because she’s warm and smells good, of course. “Jesus, my head.”

“You do seem rather unwell.”

Emma collapses onto the couch. “Understatement of the century. Pretty sure I’m dying. Or already dead.”

“There’s no need for hyperbole, Emma.” Regina snags a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it across her lap. “What you need is a cup of tea.”

“Some in the far cupboard, I think.”

“Where are your insipid parents, anyway? Shouldn’t they be jumping at the chance to fawn over you on your sickbed?”

“On a couch, not a bed, and no ... fawning. Camping. Outside. S’posed to be romantic.” Not exactly the way Emma would want to spend Valentine’s Day, but then her parents seem to love running around forests in all sorts of weather.

“Camping does tend to involve the outdoors, dear,” Regina drawls in what could be easily mistaken for condescension.

Emma lets a corner of her mouth quirk up. It drops when she hears the _clink_ of the empty whiskey bottle falling into the garbage. _Oh,_ she thinks.  _Oh._ “They poured it into a canteen,” she says, because she wants Regina to know. “Told ‘em just take the bottle, but they bought all this camping gear, so.”

“Idiots,” Regina comments lightly. Emma listens to Regina bustle around the kitchen, making both tea and little disapproving noises as she straightens up various messes. Emma enjoys the whole production as much as she’s capable of enjoying anything at the moment. It’s not every day you get a former queen being aggressively domestic at you as a form of apology.

The next thing she’s aware of is the back of a hand on her forehead. Emma struggles to open her eyes. “Fell ‘sleep,” she mutters. It must have only been for a few moments—she’s sure she would’ve heard the kettle whistling.

“I think you need to be in bed.”

“Was till you showed up,” Emma grumbles. She fights back a shiver. Regina just sets a warm hand on her shoulder. “What,” Emma starts, and then her inner ear complains as everything shifts around her. As the haze of purple dissipates, Emma realizes she’s now sitting on her bed. Regina’s hand moves to brush a strand of hair away from Emma’s face. The gesture is gentle, although Regina’s tone is as brisk as usual.

“You look terrible, Emma. Lie down, the tea’s almost ready.”

Emma’s too exhausted to respond to Regina’s sort-of insult (is it an insult if it’s completely accurate?). She falls onto her side, tugging weakly at the covers. She’s still cold. When Regina reappears with the tea, she clicks her tongue and makes an increasingly drowsy Emma sit up so she can drink while Regina arranges the blankets and pillows, muttering about threadbare something-or-other. A buzzing noise makes the former mayor cock her head.

“Where _is_ your phone?”

“Hnh.”

“...I see you’ve taken to storing it under your bed.”

Emma slurs, “See who it is?”

“I’m not your personal assistant, Miss Swan,” Regina says acerbically. She puts the phone on the nightstand and pulls the nearly-empty mug from Emma’s hands. “Get some rest. I’m sure whatever it is can wait. I have to go pick up Henry, so I’ll leave you to your recovery.”She starts to pull the covers up to Emma’s chin, something no one has ever done for her before, and Emma works a hand out from under the blankets to catch the other woman’s wrist.

“Thanks, Regina.”

Regina’s eyes are unreadable. “Feel better.”

Her eyes are sliding shut, but she summons up the strength to smile briefly. “Or what?”

Emma never hears Regina’s retort. The next time she wakes, it’s late afternoon and she has to pee like a racehorse. She wants a shower next. She also wants to sleep forever. Sleep wins out and she crawls back into bed. When she wakes again, she hears movement downstairs. _Shit, someone would pick today to break in._ Emma pulls a hoodie over her ratty thermal and stumbles downstairs. Halfway down, she realizes her gun is still locked in the nightstand. The thought of going back up to get it seems overwhelming—keeping her balance right now is hard enough—and anyway the dark head bent over the stove is probably not plotting her demise. Probably not.

“You,” she says, clutching the handrail.

Regina quirks a perfect eyebrow at her. “Were you expecting someone else, Miss Swan?”

There’s that icy undertone again for some reason. “No,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d ... I thought you were a burglar. Or something.”

“Oh? Has Storybrooke’s crime rate risen to record levels recently without my knowledge?”

“Nope.” Emma leans on the counter. “Good thing, too. Left my gun upstairs.”

“And how exactly were you going to repel me without it?”

“I would’ve sneezed on you. And you totally would’ve deserved it. If you were, uh. A burglar.” A thought strikes her. “Where’s Henry? You didn’t bring him—”

“Here? No, Miss Swan, I have no intention of exposing him to your germs firsthand. He’s at a friend’s house, and Granny Lucas will be keeping an eye on him this evening. Why, would you like me to bring him by so you can sneeze on him?”

“Really not necessary,” Emma mumbles.

“I thought not.” Regina passes her a bowl of soup. Her fingers linger for a brief moment, making sure Emma’s slightly shaky hands grip the bowl.“Eat."

“You made this from scratch?”

“I did. Would you rather I conjure it out of thin air?”

“I mean. You came back and made this. For me.”

Regina stiffens and busies herself wiping the counter. “You’ve expressed no trepidation about eating my cooking on Wednesdays.”

“That's not ... ” Ugh, poison is really not what she was going for. “I’m just used to taking care of myself when I’m sick.” She tries to think of a better way to ask _Why are you here in my house being nice to me,_ but Regina beats her to it. 

“Henry asked me to look after you,” she admits. She sets a glass of water in front of Emma and comes to sit next to her at the breakfast nook. “He’s worried about you."

Henry. Right. Regina wouldn’t have come back for any other reason, of course. “That’s really nice of the kid, but I can look after myself.”

“Considering you almost fell down the stairs a few moments ago, I would disagree.”

“I did not!”

Regina leans closer. “I don’t miss much, Miss Swan, and I certainly did not miss that. Now finish your soup.”

Emma hunches over her bowl and eats. She slants a look at Regina. The woman’s smirking at her, and damn that pretty mouth for making it look so good when Emma—

She clears her throat. “So you’re gonna hang out for a while?”

“Yes. Henry insisted on sending some entertainment for us.”

“What, comics?"

“Movies, dear. Generally one watches movies when sick.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t get sick.” Regina lifts an eyebrow and Emma hastens to explain before Regina can point out that clearly it does happen. “Built up a pretty strong immune system when I was a kid. Group homes, new families, lotta germs. Plus if I did get sick, I had to go to school anyway. It wasn’t like anyone ... ” Her throat already feels thick and swollen, and her words catch in it. _It wasn’t like anyone would take care of me._ From the way Regina looks down, she heard Emma anyway. _Fuck_ , Emma thinks blearily. She opens her mouth to say something, but Regina slides off the stool.

“Perhaps you’d like to select a movie while I clean up,” she says. The tea kettle whistles and she goes over to it, turning her back to Emma.

“Okay,” Emma mumbles. She shuffles over to the couch, which takes about all the remaining strength she has, and stares at the bag on the coffee table. It’s so far away.

“What did you pick, dear?”

“I don’t know, my x-ray vision’s on the fritz.”

Regina sighs, annoyed, and pulls the bag over before she sits next to Emma and hands her a giant-ass mug of tea. “Henry has furnished us with an array of action movies, mostly comic book adaptions.”

“Avengers,” Emma says immediately. She figures if they put a movie on they don’t have to talk. She doesn’t currently have the wit it takes to navigate a conversation with Regina. “You okay with that?”

"Mmm."

" ... What?"

"Your choice is fine, Emma."

"Come on. What."

Regina's lips purse briefly before she goes to pop the DVD in. “It’s ... decent, for a comic adaptation, I suppose. The core ensemble is inaccurate, however.”

“Wait. What?”

“The earliest iteration of the Avengers was Iron Man, Thor, Ant-Man, the Hulk, and the Wasp, and then Captain America was added,” Regina says, as if everyone knows that. In fact, Emma’s heard some of this from Henry, but hearing it from the former evil queen is surreal. “Hawkeye and the Black Widow joined the Avengers much later, and the Hulk actually—”

“Oh my god,” Emma says. She lifts a hand and points weakly at Regina. “You. Are a giant nerd.”

Regina bristles. “I am not—”

“Hey. No. You totally are. It’s cute,” she adds, and stifles a smile when Regina frowns at her. “You can explain all the differences to me, okay?” It’s Emma’s turn to frown. “On second thought, I’m probably going to fall asleep on you, so maybe not so much with the talking.”

“If you need a pillow, Miss Swan, I will provide you with one. But I will not have you drooling all over me.”

“Great, fine. Can we start the movie?” Emma’s suddenly freezing. Regina settles next to her, not close enough for Emma to feel her body heat, so Emma lets her head droop over the mug instead. The steam feels good on her face. She breathes it in slowly, feels a hand brush her shoulder again as Regina wraps a blanket around her. She thinks for a moment of their son.

“Were you scared the first time Henry got sick?” Emma asks quietly. Regina’s leaning into her space, pulling the blanket around Emma’s shoulders, and her brown eyes meet Emma’s from only a few inches away.

“Terrified. I slept in his room for three days until the worst of it had passed. I learned after a while not to be afraid when he’d contract a cold. I think perhaps I spoiled him, though.” Her lips curve up briefly. “New movies, comics, special treats, anything he wanted.”

“That’s good."

“Is it? Some might say it was too much.”

A shadow passes over Regina's face, perhaps remnants of a recent time when nothing she could give Henry seemed like enough, and Emma sets her tea down. She relaxes into the couch, rolls her head so she can keep looking at Regina. “I say it’s good. Everything I wanted for him. You gave that to him. _You_ did that, Regina.” The other woman looks down, fiddling with the remote in her lap as the menu loops in front of them, and it occurs to Emma that people don’t often tell Regina she’s a good mother. Emma traces that profile with her eyes. “Regina,” she says.

“Yes?”

Emma shifts, burrowing into Regina’s side and resting her head on Regina’s shoulder. She hears and feels Regina’s intake of breath. “Start the damn movie, okay?”

It takes a while for Regina to relax under her. Emma just keeps breathing. She’s focused so much on breathing that she starts drifting off. Then Regina moves, jostling her slightly. The complaint Emma’s mustering dies in her throat when Regina puts an arm around her.

“My arm’s going to sleep,” she explains.

“Mmm,” Emma says. She closes her eyes just for a moment, just to rest them before Scarlett Johannsen and her perfect fucking face come back on the screen, drifts into an easy slumber in the circle of Regina's arm. She wakes to find the windows dark and the menu looping again on mute. Regina’s still holding her.


	2. In which much hair petting occurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started writing this before the events of 3x15, so the fic either takes place before 3x15 or should be considered AU.

Emma doesn’t immediately move upon waking. Regina’s left hand is curled securely around Emma’s hip and her head’s propped against her other hand, elbow braced on the arm of the couch. If Emma wanted to, she could nose further into Regina’s neck and fall back asleep. Instead, Emma lets her gaze drift over an expanse of throat and collarbone. She feels aware of the immediacy of the present, of the sound of their breathing and the rise and fall of Regina’s chest under her. Eventually (too soon, dammit) Regina stirs. She murmurs, “You’re awake. How do you feel?”  
  
Emma hums noncommittally. “‘Bout the same. Still tired.”  
  
“You missed the movie.”  
  
“Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
“Well,” Regina says with finality. And here it is, Emma realizes with a pang. Regina thinks she’s done her duty and she’s about ready to leave Emma  alone once more—“We’ll just have to find one that will hold your interest.”  
  
Emma peers up at Regina. “Wait. Really?” Regina turns her head slightly, a smile pulling at her lips, and Emma feels her breath on her cheek.  
  
“Miss Swan, are you that unfamiliar with the concept of a movie marathon?”  
  
“No, that’s, I mean, that sounds good.” Emma’s grinning weakly. _Stop that_ , she tells herself. “But first I need to, uh—”  
  
“Ah.” Regina’s arm loosens around her and Emma misses the contact. But her bladder is seriously going to explode if she doesn’t get to a bathroom right the fuck now. She starts to stand. She thinks better of it immediately.  
  
“Just gonna give that a sec,” Emma says nonchalantly. Little stars burst behind her eyelids. Her head is throbbing. Regina’s hand moves on her back, distracting her until her vision clears.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Nope.” She stands anyway, coughs a few times. Regina cups her elbow but Emma waves her off. “I got this.”  
  
“If you’re sure.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
The toilet seat’s cold and the heat leaks from her exposed skin quickly. She’s shivering by the time she comes out of the bathroom. Regina’s moving around in the kitchen, so Emma wraps the blanket around herself and slumps into the couch alone. Jesus, you’d think that taking a two-hour nap would have helped with the headache, but no.  
  
“Emma. Drink this.” There’s another mug of green tea under her nose. Emma sighs but takes it anyway. She sips dutifully until she can’t choke down any more. Shit, she could swear the coffee table’s about a mile from the couch. How the hell is everything so far away now that she’s sick, like, has the loft magically expanded? Has Regina magically expanded it? No, that’s dumb, why would Regina even do something like that...  
  
Regina’s hands cover hers for a second as she takes the mug from Emma. “Perhaps we should get you back to bed.”  
  
“No,” Emma says too quickly. “No, I’ve been in bed all day. Bed is boring. Besides, we’re having a movie marathon, right?”  
  
“Right,” Regina says, lips pursing. “Then you should pick something, shouldn’t you?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Just pop in whatever you grab, doesn’t matter.” Emma’s focused on burrowing into Regina’s shoulder again. She shivers and draws her feet up behind her. God, she’s freezing.  
  
“You’d have to let me up first, dear.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I can’t very well put the movie in from here.”  
  
“From...”  
  
Regina explains patiently, as if to a particularly dense child, “I’d have to leave the couch.”  
  
And deprive Emma of her personal heat source? Not happening. “TV’s fine.”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“TV instead.”  
  
Regina starts flipping through channels. All twelve of them. Of course her parents don’t have cable. “Low-brow comedy reruns, a subpar thriller, _Law and Order_ , infomercials.”  
  
“Do you even have to ask?”  
  
Regina sighs, clicks back to Mariska Hargitay’s face. “I suppose not.”  
  
“She’s awesome. And hot,” Emma mumbles.  
  
“Whatever you say, dear.”  
  
“You can’t deny it. Hot like fire.”  
  
“No, dear. You are.”  
  
“Ha, I knew—what?”  
  
She can only see the corner of Regina’s mouth, but she knows that damn smirk even from the side. “You have a fever, Emma. You’re shivering, yet you’re abnormally warm to the touch.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure,” Emma says judiciously, “that you might have just made a joke.”  
  
“It’s quite possible. I can be very funny.”  
  
“Oh, I bet you can.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Emma is about to make an ill-considered comment about having an evil sense of humor, but suddenly it feels like someone’s pounding an ice pick through her temples. She squeezes her eyes shut and inhales sharply.  
  
“Emma? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Headache. Bad,” she manages to get out. She screws up her entire face at the next stab of pain, then groans in protest as Regina abruptly pushes her up and leans forward to dig in the bag.  
  
“Here. Painkillers.” Emma knocks them back and lets Regina take the glass of water from her after she’s done. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”  
  
“Unh.” Emma shuts her eyes again and lapses into silence. Regina’s still propping her up. After a few moments, a hand grazes Emma’s temple and traces a tentative circle. Emma turns her head into it in a silent plea for more. Fingers slip into her hair and a thumb begins to rub against her temple. Emma whimpers and Regina’s hand flattens against her cheek.  
  
“Lie down, Emma.”  
  
She lowers herself gratefully. Regina’s put one of the throw pillows in her lap and Emma sighs as she feels it against the pressure point at the base of her head. Then there are fingers skimming her temples and fingernails lightly raking over the top of her skull. They don’t speak. The television is on low in the background.  
  
“Better?” Regina asks after what has to be ten or fifteen minutes.  
  
“Yeah, that felt really good. Thanks.” Emma turns onto her side and curls up again. They watch the screen for a while. “Henry’s lucky,” Emma hears herself say. “To have you. You’re really good at ... all this. At everything. You’re ... you’re pretty ... yeah.” Regina draws in a breath. Emma sucks one in too—to say what, she doesn’t know—and is overcome by a coughing fit. She sees stars again. When she’s finished, she’s shaking. Regina pulls the blanket up around her and rests a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“You need to get some real rest, dear. I’m going to move you upstairs.”  
  
“Nah,” Emma says. She turns her face into the pillow to muffle another cough. “Gotta finish this episode, right? Anyway, I’m good right here.”    
  
Regina sighs. “Difficult as always, Miss Swan,” she says. She moves a few strands of hair off Emma’s face.  
  
“Yeah, well. 's why you like me.”  
  
“I do not.”  
  
“Aw, come on. You do, a little.”  
  
“I find you tolerable at best.”  
  
“Lying,” Emma murmurs, not even opening her eyes.  
  
Regina’s still stroking her hair absent-mindedly. “No, you can be quite tolerable.”  
  
“Just like you can be funny, huh?”  
  
“Emma.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Be quiet and watch your ridiculous procedural.”  
  
“'s not ridiculous. But long as you keep rubbing my head like that, I’ll do whatever you say.”  
  
“Oh, will you?”  
  
“Within reason, yeah.”  
  
“...You should start curling your hair again.”  
  
Emma’s eyes pop open. She turns onto her back again so she can look at Regina. “Are you serious right now?”  
  
“Yes,” Regina says matter-of-factly. “The waves are all right, I suppose, but you shouldn’t straighten your hair. The curls complement your facial structure much better.”  
  
“Wow. Okay. Because they work so well with the sea breeze and the weather out here.”  
  
“You seemed to manage for an entire year.”  
  
“Oh, you were paying attention?”  
  
Is Regina blushing a little? “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, scowling. “You insinuated yourself into my life at every turn. And it’s my practice to note even the little details about my enemies.”  
  
“Enemies? Wow, and here I thought we were bonding,” Emma says lightly. She turns back onto her side.  
  
Regina sniffs. She’s not touching Emma any more. “Hardly. I’m only taking care of you at our son’s request. If it were up to me, I certainly wouldn’t be here.”  
  
“I’m well aware of that.” Emma doesn’t mean to sound hurt at Regina’s dismissive tone. It slips out anyway, because ... _Damn it_. Emma clenches her jaw, which doesn’t help with her receding headache. She knows Regina’s bad at, like, friendship-type things. And of course Regina’s gone all stiff again and they’re staring at the TV in uncomfortable silence, which is really the opposite of what Emma wants. So—“Okay,” she says.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“I’ll curl it. Not all the time. But some of the time.”  
  
“Oh,” Regina says softly. “Well ... good.”  
  
When she feels Regina’s hand sweep over her hair again, Emma lets her eyes drift shut once more. The tension dissipates with each stroke until her headache is completely gone. And yeah, so maybe Emma should get sick more often, because she’s kind of enjoying it. Minus the gallons of tea Regina’s pouring down her throat, of course.  
  
Shit, she has to pee again.  
  
The knock on the door is the last thing Emma wants to hear. “Expecting someone?” Regina asks. Emma grunts in response. She’s really not a fan of the part where she has to move and let Regina get up. She is, however, definitely a fan of the view as the woman walks away.  
  
She can’t see who’s at the door initially because Regina’s in the way, but the way Regina abruptly goes still sets off every alarm bell in Emma’s head. Whoever it is, this is bad. Emma starts to hoist herself off the couch, cursing the fact that her gun is still upstairs, but what the _hell_ , Neal’s peeking around Regina with that shit-eating grin.  
  
“Gentlemen,” Regina says, and by all rights the ice in her voice should be enough to freeze the balls off the two men standing at the door of Emma’s parents’ house. Because it’s not just Neal, of course, Neal with his arms full of candy and a stuffed bear (seriously? Who is she, her mother?). Hook is there too. With a bouquet of roses in one hand and a goddamned balloon tied to his goddamned hook and what the _fuck_ is her life.  
  
“Hey, Emma,” Neal says. “Uh, you didn’t answer any of my texts, so...”  
  
“So you thought you’d simply show up?” Regina says disdainfully. Neal looks at his feet.  
  
Hook peers around Regina’s other shoulder and winks at Emma. “Bit of a surprise and all that, aye, but seemed the thing to do on this ... quaint holiday of yours. Ran into the lad on my way here, of course; we clearly had the same idea.” The men exchange a look.  
  
She feels her headache coming back. “Guys. Can we just ... not? For once?”  
  
“Emma is not feeling well,” Regina informs them.  
  
“Want us to stick around, love? Cheer you up a bit?” Hook says, looking hopefully at Emma.  
  
Neal pipes up. “Chocolate might help you feel better. Got your favorites, Em!”  
  
Her favorites. Yes, the cheap box of filled chocolates that taste like someone injected them with fruit-flavored puke, the ones she’d been happy to get just because Neal (someone, anyone) had cared enough to give them to her.  
  
“Uh...”  
  
“And I could bring over some of your favorite movies. Get you some ginger ale or something.”  
  
“Thanks, but...”  
  
“I have this tea I picked up on one of my voyages. Said to have curative powers, and it can also double as an aphr—”  
  
Regina’s had enough. “Your presence is neither necessary nor desirable, pirate. Nor yours, Baelfire. I am more than capable of taking care of Miss Swan on my own. I will take your ... gifts ... and you’ll leave Emma to her rest. Now.”  
  
Neal pouts a little, which used to be endearing. Hook looks at Regina, at Emma, back at Regina. “Aye, I’d say you’re quite capable, aren’t you,” he says softly. “Come on then, mate, we’re in the way here. Think there’s a drink special down at that tavern you frequent...”  
  
Regina shuts the door behind them, strides across the room, and unceremoniously drops the gifts onto the dining room table. The balloon goes sailing up into the loft’s rafters. Emma follows it with her eyes. _Someone’s gonna have to get that down,_ she thinks distantly. Maybe Mary Margaret will shoot it with an arrow.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“For what? Stranding your balloon?” The other woman’s eyes flash.  
  
“Uh, for getting rid of them for me. Wasn’t really up to it.”  
  
“I don’t understand why you tolerate those two. They’re tiresome and unnecessary.”  
  
“They’re not so bad. Aside from the weird rape-y humor and puppy-dog eyes and constant stalking.” _Huh. Sounds worse when I say it out loud._  
  
Regina presses her lips together and leans down to collect Emma’s mug and glass. “I’ll be sure to invite them to stay for dinner next time.”  
  
“Why, when you so clearly want me all to yourself?” Emma says flippantly, and Regina freezes for a fraction of a second. _Wait. What?_  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. As we’ve established, I’m here because Henry requested it. I have better things to do with my time than run off your pathetic suitors or play nursemaid.” She stalks off to the kitchen. Emma lies there, blinking up at the ceiling, and tries to make her muzzy brain work.  
  
“Regina,” Emma says at length.  
  
“What.”  
  
“Look, you can go home if you really want. You’ve seriously done a great job taking care of me and I’ll be fine on my own. But I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about not abandoning movie marathons right in the middle.”  
  
Regina appears in her field of vision. “Shall I call back your harem? I’m sure they’d love to help you finish.”  
  
“I don’t want them here.”  
  
“Don’t you? Then why do you keep encouraging them to follow you around?”  
  
“I don’t encourage them.”  
  
“No, you just hid behind me.”  
  
“Because I’m sick! Not really up for them right now.”  
  
“Right now?” Regina’s lip curls. “Make up your mind, Emma.”  
  
“I meant dealing with them. Not—” Emma rubs her forehead. It’s beginning to throb again. “Jesus, you know what I mean.”  
  
“I’m sure I don’t.” They glare at each other for a moment. “I should go,” Regina says. “I will see to it you get to bed and then I am going home to my son. There’s soup in the fridge and you will drink one more cup of tea.”  
  
Emma sighs. “Enough with the fluids, seriously. My back teeth are floating.”  
  
“You need to hydrate. You don’t drink enough water anyway.”  
  
“And you know this how?”  
  
“I told you. I make it a point to—”  
  
“Know your enemies, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma sits up slowly, blows out a breath. She knows what the other woman’s doing, she’s felt that pushback time and again, but before she didn’t know what it meant. Her voice is gentler when she says, “Listen, Regina, I—”  
  
“You should visit the bathroom first,” Regina says, turning away. “I’ll clean up.”  
  
 _Damn this woman._ “Okay,” she says.  
  
She comes back out feeling dizzy. Regina’s waiting for her with a fresh mug. Emma sways a little and Regina’s hand shoots out to steady her. “You are pitiful, Miss Swan,” Regina murmurs.  
  
“Just get me upstairs. Please.”  
  
The goddamn teleport or whatever messes with Emma’s inner ear again, because when they arrive the entire room is spinning and she feels like she’s about to hurl. She stumbles forward, lands against Regina and holds on for dear life. “Shit,” she mutters. “Sorry. Sorry.”  
  
“Miss Swan,” Regina’s throaty voice warns in her ear. “Let go.”  
  
“Regina. You real fond of those boots?”  
  
“Am I—what does that have to do with anything?”  
  
Emma says through clenched teeth, “‘Cause I’m gonna lose it all over them if I move right now.”  
  
“...All right. We’ll just stay here.”  
  
Emma keeps holding on, face pressed into the warm slope of Regina’s neck, too tired and unsteady to move. She feels the other woman’s free hand slide on her lower back after a few moments. Regina traces small circles until the dizziness subsides, and Emma wonders at this woman who has taken such joy in inflicting pain and who is so good at taking it away. “Tell Henry,” she says into Regina’s shoulder. “Good movie night. Sick day. Whatever. I had fun.”  
  
“I’ll tell him,” Regina says quietly.  
  
“Yeah,” Emma says. She pulls back, keeps a hand on Regina’s forearm as she sits down on the bed. “Hey. I owe you one.”  
  
“You owe me nothing, Emma.” Regina’s eyes are almost regretful as she hands Emma the tea. Without thinking, Emma circles Regina’s wrist with her free hand. Because Regina looks sad and because Emma wants to touch her, always wants to touch her. Because of that half-second pause earlier.  
  
“Okay. Well. Maybe _you_ owe _me_ something.” She tugs a little. Regina makes a face, but she perches carefully on the edge of her bed.  
  
“Oh? And what would that be?”  
  
Emma holds up a finger and slurps at the steaming liquid for a few moments. When she’s let Regina stew enough, she sets the mug down and grins a little. “Payback for all this tea. I want a chance to pour something down your throat.”  
  
“I see. Do you have a plan for your revenge, dear?”  
  
“Oh, definitely. You. Me. Drinks at the Rabbit Hole. Just, you know. Hanging out.”  
  
“Hanging out,” Regina repeats. “Certainly sounds like a productive use of my time.”  
  
Emma’s grin widens, because Regina’s making fun of her and because she still hasn’t pulled her wrist from Emma’s loose grip or mentioned how Emma’s toes are kind of tucked under her thigh. “I guarantee you it will be productive.”  
  
“I don’t really do ‘hanging out.’”  
  
“Yeah, well, we were doing a pretty good job until those losers showed up. Come on ... I’m gonna go crazy cooped up in here, so it’ll be fun to get out after I’m better. I promise you’ll have a good time. I’ll buy you your favorite drink.”  
  
The older woman hesitates. “ _Do_ you know what my favorite drink is?”  
  
“Come with me and you’ll find out.”  
  
“Hmph,” Regina says, standing, and Emma chuckles and swings her legs under the covers because she knows Regina won’t say yes but she’ll show up anyway.  
  
“Gonna tuck me in?” she says, snuggling into her pillow.  
  
“You are a child.”  
  
“Of legal drinking age.”  
  
“Just so you know, I could drink you under the table, Miss Swan.”  
  
“Like to see you try,” Emma says sleepily, eyelids lowering. “Drive safe.”  
  
“Safely.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
She’s almost drifted off completely when she hears Regina say, “Good night, Emma.” She wants to respond, but she’s so, so tired. A fingertip traces her hairline along her temple and Emma surrenders to the pull of sleep.  
  
When she wakes, she feels about a hundred times better. Her parents fuss over her after they get back. It’s kind of uncomfortable, but she lets them, mostly.  
  
She won’t let Mary Margaret shoot the balloon down.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sequel is in the works.


End file.
